


Black Holes

by Trash_tzar



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash_tzar/pseuds/Trash_tzar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Minkowski and Eiffel's relationship after Doug's return to the Hepheastus</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Holes

**Author's Note:**

> LMAO hi this was going to be angsty all the way through but :)))) I'm a sucker :)))) so yeah just have this definitely not canon completely self indulgent whatever this is  
> Also ey the first thing on my account fun times

Minkowski knew everything had changed after the arrival of the Urania, returning Eiffel to her. _Her_ Eiffel, she caught herself thinking more than once. That was what threw her off the most. How she thought, or more accurately (and frighteningly) felt, about Eiffel. She never knew that a person could hold their breath for months on end, but that's what she had done. Seeing Eiffel slip back into the Hephaestus had been like learning how to breath again. 

Now they danced around each other to the droning beat of regularity, monotone. Eiffel was softer than he had been. He would grow quiet, his eyes distant and empty, more often and for longer amounts of time. Minutes to hours, hours to days, pulled farther away from her and into a black hole somewhere in his chest, but Minkowski found herself warped into its orbit more often than not. She wants to be at his side, close enough for their shoulders to bump almost innocently, for his fingers to lace through hers for a fraction of a second when he's been "gone" for too long. She wants to lock her hand into his, figure out what this feeling in her stomach is, but she lets him slip out of her grasp again and again and again. 

For a while, he's better. His hair is growing back, he's actually eating, he's talking, but Minkowski can't remember what his laugh sounds like. She tries to be gentle. She tries to act like nothing has changed. Neither works. But maybe it's worth it to see the corner of his mouth turn up when she tries way too hard and makes a fool of herself. She can't tell if it's out of endearment or malice, but he's smiling. And maybe that's enough.

He's good at faking it. Very good. Scary good. As time goes on, he goes back to work. He makes his jokes, laughs his laugh, empty as a hollow point bullet. She didn't know it was possible to be that tired. 

Their orbit around each other is shrinking. Hands brush, eyes meet. A playful tug of her ponytail when no one is watching. Once, Kepler leaves after ripping into Minkowski for messing up another menial task, and Eiffel's arm is around her middle, pulling her against him. His head fits perfectly into the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Perfectly. Perfect. She puts a tentative hand on the back of his neck, and presses her mouth against the side of his head, into the soft down of new hair, eyes closed as she breaths him in. He's unsmoked cigarettes and blood and hurt and hope, and he's Eiffel. Her Eiffel.

That's as close as he gets for weeks. It's as close as she'll let him be. She's scared of him. She tells herself it's because of the court case. Of course it is, he's not who she thought he was. Right? Right. She repeats it like a mantra, and hopes that that will make it true. Because she knows the truth. She doesn't believe for a second that he could do anything like that with malicious intent. Right? Right. What she's really scared of is what Eiffel means to her. She stopped wearing her wedding ring years ago. She can't remember if she took it off on the ship, or if they even let her bring it up in the first place. She can't remember, but she doesn't wear the wedding ring. God, she can't remember. She rubs the spot where it used to be. I love him I love him I love him. She can't stop watching Eiffel. 

She loved him.

She blew it. She pushed him away, she bent, she broke. By the time she's sorted through, forgiven, understood, he won't even look her in the eyes. She didn't understand how she hadn't seen it before. It had started at Hilbert's betrayal, when she found that all she had left to hold onto, the only real thing, was Eiffel, but it hadn't hit a breaking point until he had come back (come home? No. Not quite. Not yet). Not until he had found his way to her, until he had sighed, "Alone at last", with an ache in his voice she couldn't quite place. She had resisted the urge to kiss him on the mouth, instead settling for the most satisfying hug known to man (that was home). 

Meanwhile Eiffel is woken by nightmares. Again. He can't remember the last time he slept through the night. He wakes up from coughing up his own blood, suffocating, being blown up by an actual goddamn bomb. The only way he ever gets back to sleep is thinking about the next moment. Minkowski standing over him, Minkowski with an oxygen mask, Minkowski on the radio, in his head. Minkowski, Minkowski, Minkowski. It stops working when he thinks she hates him. When he's lied and avoided and hurt her. When he thinks that the Minkowski in his memories isn't the one he sees now. He goes for a walk, pacing the halls. He knows she doesn't want to see him, but he keeps getting drawn to her door. The event horizon of a black hole. Minkowski, Minkowski, Minkowski, Renée.

She was sure she had thrown it all away. Until her door creaked open late into the pseudo-night, just enough for him to slip in, his averted gaze a silent question. She didn't know it was possible to be this awake. She shifted closer to the wall, leaving plenty of space. Damn it. She had been determined to leave it alone, let it die, but as soon as he sweeps right in, she's pulled right back. Black holes. He slips into the bed beside her, tattered tank top and battered sweat pants, tousled hair and haunted eyes. Was it supposed to be this awkward? What should she say.  
"Nightmares?" _Stupid. Of course it was nightmares._  
"Yeah."  
"Ok" _Damn._

He felt her eyes search his face, asking a million questions at once. _What do you need? What is this? What are we? What do you need?_ He chuckled a bit. Minkowski couldn't be anyone but Minkowski.  
"What?" She asked.  
_What did I do wrong?_ She meant. If there was one thing he knew on this ship, it was her.  
"Nothing." He smiled. He reached his hand to hers, which was somewhat awkwardly splayed out between them, pulling her fingers one by one between his. The closeness of her sent what almost felt like electric shocks through his hands, but slower, warmer. Gentle and needy. He used the motion to pull himself closer to her, almost desperate to be near her. His head found a perfect fit beneath her chin, even when she shifted her head to press her mouth to his head.  
She started to hum. Eiffel didn't think he'd ever been sung to. He'd never heard the song she hummed into his hair, but he knew it was a lullaby. He wrapped his arms around her middle, shaking slightly. In all the days and months and years he had been on this ship, and plenty before, he had never been treated so gently, held so carefully. 

He loved her.

Minkowski would never be able to remember why she decided to hum to him. Possibly because she didn't ever know to begin with. It just felt... Right, she guessed. If she sang, she didn't have to say anything. It was an old lullaby her mom used to sing to her during thunderstorms. He had pulled her closer at around the second verse. The offset of their heights meant he had pressed her hips against his stomach, and their knees knocked together more than a couple of times. As awkward and uncomfortable as she knew it probably should have been, it was suddenly the most natural thing in the world. Like breathing, like gravity. She reached her free hand up to wrap her fingers into the fine hairs at the base of his neck after she had finished humming, when she knew he was asleep. She fell asleep herself to the sound of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, and the contented thumping of her own heart beat.  
Maybe, for once, nothing needed to be said.


End file.
